Page 22 of The Pucking Fake Marriage

“So, you have some more information for me?” His eyes are practically sparkling.

“Yes.” I falter for a moment, but then, I think of my parents losing the home they’ve lived in for thirty years. “Yes.” Digging into my purse, I produce a copy of my marriage certificate, the one I took great pains to secure.

Mr. Holloway’s eyes light up as he looks down at it. “Well, this doesmake a lot of difference. He opens the file and slips the paper inside. My heart is banging hard in my chest as he looks over at his monitor and starts to type on the keyboard. Finally, he looks back at me.

“He’s running late?”

He?

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Holloway looks at me like I’m making a joke. “Your husband. He’s coming, right?” He looks at the screen. “Weneed his social security number, some proof of living together, bills, you know. The bank usually requires that the business should be jointly owned too, but this is a requirement we’re willing to wave, seeing as the loan amount you require is less than…”

“Living together?” I croak. My tension returns two-fold, and my fingers are instantly clammy.

“Are you alright?” Mr. Holloway is staring at me. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. Surely, I heard wrong. This is him playing a joke. A bad one. Mr. Holloway’s going to clear it up in no time.

“You need proof that we’re living together?” I ask, trying to sound like a pleasant wife on her honeymoon, not like a terrified debtor whose life’s unraveling around her. “Why? We’re married. Of course, we live together,” I wave at him dismissively.

Mr. Holloway looks at me like I’m insane. “I mentioned we’ll need paperwork.”

“Erm, no.” I suddenly find it hard to breathe. “You said, ‘a marriage certificate will make all of the difference.’ So, I brought that.”

He gazes in confusion. “Well, I thought I made it clear. This is a loan, a large amount of money, for that matter. We need to have proof that you and your husband aren’t separated. We need to run a credit check on him to make sure you’ll be able to make the payments, that you’re living together, not merely married because you want to obtain a loan. Youdounderstand why we need to make certain of all this, right?”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I’m the biggest idiot alive.

I crash back on the chair as color drains from my face.Everything I did—going to Las Vegas, getting together with Ken, making sure he married me and forgot about it—was for nothing.Nothing.I’m back where I was three months ago, only poorer and more aware of my foolishness.

And this had to happenafterI made the commitment to support my family.

Ten minutes later, I walk out of Mr. Holloway’s office in a daze, barely paying attention to the dozens of other people streaming around the hallway of the bank. I walk into someone twice, and I’m too stunned to look back and apologize. Outside, with even more people walking past me, I’m dimly aware of dialing Haley’s number.

“Hi!” she says, after answering on the first ring. She’s still at home—we closed down the restaurant after we lost Troy. Temporarily, I promised her. Until I have the loan in my pocket.

A loan I can no longer secure.

I push words through my stiff lips, filling her in on everything that just happened. Then I pause, bracing myself. She could shout at me, call me an idiot. It’s not like I wouldn’t deserve it.

But when Haley speaks, she doesn’t do any of those things.

“Well, Charlotte,” she says. “There’s only one thing you cando now.”

“What’s that?” Eagerness rises up in me. I’m willing to do damn near anything, including mopping Mr. Holloway’s floors for a month.

“Tell Ken that you’re his wife.”

SEVEN

FACING THE MUSIC (KEN)

“Marginally better practice, Edwards,” Coach Tanner calls as I march out of the changing rooms, Blake trailing behind me. “Keep it up, and you’ll be ready to play against teenage girls in about a year.”

Blake chortles as I roll my eyes. “That’s his way of saying you’re improving,” he announces, like I don’t know that already.

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